


Virtue and Vice

by ravenslight



Series: The Library Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M, Professor Draco Malfoy, Roleplay, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Strictly Dramione Valentine's Day Smut Fest, Tags Are Hard, Valentine's Day, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-26 02:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17736899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenslight/pseuds/ravenslight
Summary: Hermione Granger is going to seduce Draco Malfoy, but she needs the help of her old school uniform and a poorly-laid plan to do so. If the Slytherins wanted a show, then a show they would get. Written for Strictly Dramione's Valentine's Day Smut Fest. Prompt #111: Go to Yale.





	Virtue and Vice

**Author's Note:**

> So this is quite possibly one of the most difficult things I've ever written, but I had so much fun when I finally got into a groove. I owe some major shoutouts to two wonderful people for this fic. First, I am forever indebted to ravenclaw-sass for betaing this to perfection. Any remaining errors are my own. The second shoutout goes to LadyKenz347 for making this beautiful aesthetic. Like do you see this thing? She's a goddess. If you haven't started it yet, go read her WIP Sweetly Broken. I'm biased as her beta, but it's brilliant. It'll make you feel all the things.

                                                                        

**Virtue and Vice**

 

Hermione Granger was on a mission—well, it wasn’t so much of a mission as it was a _conquest_. Call it crazy or one woman’s incessant desire to satisfy _all_ her curiosities, but she’d be damned if she died without completing it.

She couldn’t remember exactly when it started. Perhaps in third year, when she’d punched him in the face. It could very well have been when Witch Weekly had featured him on their cover as one of Britain’s most eligible—read, reformed and, most importantly, wealthy—bachelors. Maybe it was a combination of all things aforementioned and her sickening need to punish herself for the sheer thrill of the pain.

Whatever it was, Hermione Granger had the hots for Draco Malfoy, and she was going to shag him come hell or high water.

They’d started working together after the war. Begrudgingly, at first. He was one of the few Hogwarts graduates who had opted into the history of magic route, alongside her and Theodore Nott. She’d surprised herself with the track; she had intended to jetset straight into the Ministry of Magic, turn around some ridiculously antiquated laws and eventually move on to the Minister- for-Magic-track.

Her five-year-plan was to land the title of youngest Minister for Magic that the wizarding world had ever seen. That _had_ been the plan, at least, until she’d received her Ministry application back with a big, red denied-stamp across the top and a poorly scrawled noted from Kingsley encouraging her to try again after she got some field experience.

She’d scoffed. _Field experience_. She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime after she, Harry, and Ron had saved the wizarding world from imploding, but apparently that wasn’t enough to break through the red tape of the wizarding politics still mired in the antiquities of pure-blood dogma.

To spite them she’d decided to stay in academia and see how far her mind could take her. History of magic wasn’t her first choice—neither was it her second, third, or even fourth. However, after months of working at a dead-end job in Diagon Alley, a position had opened at the prestigious Mouseion, the research institute with which the Library of Alexandria was affiliated with. Despite Muggle belief, the Library had not been burnt and destroyed but hidden within protective enchantments. On a whim, she had applied. They’d accepted her with enthusiasm, and she still had the acceptance letter folded crisply in the envelope she had received it in, absurdly pleased at the success.

Within the walls of the library, she’d discovered more knowledge than she could have ever dreamed of knowing; more than she was ever likely to page through for the rest of her years. It was an aphrodisiac of the best kind. Surrounded by ancient tomes of civilisations long dead, she could immerse herself in unravelling rare and dangerous magic to record for future generations.

During the first thirty minutes of their first day, they’d been assigned mentors and sections of the library, and to her immediate displeasure, she had been assigned the magical relationships section.

She had spent months working in the library with only her mentor, Madam Aaushi, learning how to handle the old scrolls and papyrus swatches that were inscribed with languages yet to be translated. Her fingers still twitched nervously sometimes when reaching for a particularly old tome, remembering the many times Madam Aaushi’s wand had sent jinxes flying at her colleagues for handling old texts too carelessly.

That was how, a few months into her tenure, she’d come across a whole bookcase of sex magic. She’d thought it laughable—what was the purpose of a room full of theoretical magics on sex?—but she’d quickly come to realize after a stern lecture from Madam Aaushi that the books were actually a quite simple way of tracing the way magic had disseminated throughout the world from its first recorded usage by Dedi in 2700 B.C. Egypt. She’d remember _that_ bit of trivia for the rest of her life.

She held the origin of magic in the not-quite-so-literal palms of her hands and had scoffed in its face. Hermione’s face had burned in shame for hours afterward.

Slowly her research interests had shifted from history of magical creatures to genealogical magic and the effects it had on the wizarding world. That was why, about six months from her first day in the library, she’d encountered Malfoy and Nott in the library.

She’d nearly forgotten they both worked there. The library was large enough that she and Madam Aaushi often worked alone, the only sound the flip of the fragile pages suspended in the magical field within which they worked to minimize contact with contaminants. It was easy to imagine that they were alone with the books—and, if Hermione was honest, she quite preferred it that way.

However, she’d been researching the inheritance of certain strains of dark magic through familial bloodrites of marriage when she’d stumbled across Nott and Malfoy with their heads bent over one of the hundreds of dilapidated tables scattered throughout the library. They’d been whispering furiously to each other over a book, but Nott had snapped it shut when she cleared her throat and asked what they were looking at.

Both of the men refused to meet her eyes, mumbling something about needing a reference for research they were conducting. Nott had slipped it into his bag and both boys nodded at her, Nott cutting his eyes upward to meet hers with a mischievous grin, and they’d disappeared into the depths of the library, leaving her alone with her research again.

She was curious. It wasn’t often that Hermione ran across others in this section of the library—like she had at the beginning of her tenure, many of the other librarians largely disregarded the section as drivel. But she made note of the empty spot on the shelf, and she waited.

Every day for two weeks, she revisited the spot on the shelf, watching the dust settle into the bare spot where the mystery book had been shelved, until finally, on the sixteenth day, the first day of February, the book had returned.

She approached it with caution. What kind of book could Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott have needed for sixteen days? What kind of magic could the book have contained that it was so important to secret it away?

She slipped the book from the shelf. A nondescript leather-bound cover met her eyes. The only writing on it was the title, stamped clearly into the soft leather front: _Wizarding Sexuality: A Comprehensive Examination of Polyamorous Relationships throughout Wizarding History_.

She snorted. So Nott and Malfoy _were_ into sharing.

The rumour had floated around the aisles of the library: Malfoy and Nott enjoyed partaking in the carnality of the flesh together.   

Though working at the Library was fast-paced and she often worked alone, that didn’t mean they never saw one another. They often spent time together on their weekends, ate lunch together. She’d also had the opportunity to indulge many of her whims with the other workers there.

That wasn’t to say she slept around a _lot_ ; she was, however, a modern, _single_ witch who could do whatever she pleased with whoever she pleased.

She’d first experimented with one of the other librarians who worked under Madam Aaushi. A former Durmstrang student, he was quite funny under his stoic exterior; they’d worked through several of the positions in _Magical Kama Sutra_ together to work off steam and loneliness. So, too, had she had a few late-night encounters with one of the botany librarians.

Her favourite, however, had been when she’d encountered Theodore Nott alone in the aisles of books about obscure magical creatures. They’d traded verbal spars, one thing had led to another and they’d ended up against a bookcase filled with books detailing werewolf bonding rituals in the thirteenth century—Theo buried deep inside her.

She’d always thought he and Malfoy were together, as she often saw them canoodling in the stacks, but he’d merely brushed off her inquiry with a murmured, “We have an understanding.” The comment had reignited her interest, and thus here she was with a half-cocked plan to seduce the blond-haired man.

She slipped into a chair at the same desk that the men had occupied when she’d stumbled across them and began flipping through the book. It was dense, filled with cramped text and handwritten notes in various languages. But what fascinated her the most were the photos.

On each page, moving illustrations depicted the multitude of positions and scenarios within. Curiosity got the better of her, and she retrieved her wand from her pocket. With a quick swish, she cast a quiet _Prior Inveniet_ , a spell of her own design that helped the reader find the last page opened to in a book lest she ever lost her spot. The book flipped through the pages and landed on one of the last chapters: “Voyeurism: For the Visually Pleased Witch or Wizard.”

She flipped through the pages, studying the images and advice therein as she began to formulate a plan.

She snapped the book shut, turning to slide it back into its rightful space on the shelf, when another, smaller sheaf of paper caught her eyes. Unable to help her curiosity, she slipped it from its spot on the shelf and huffed out a disbelieving laugh. _Witch Weekly_. She thought she’d escaped that when she’d finally left Parvati and Lavender behind at Hogwarts.

She searched the front page for a date and shook her head: 1958. Women had been reading the garbage for long enough that the Library staff had warranted it important enough to include in their stacks. She flipped through the pages lazily, trying to find its appeal when an article caught her eye: “129 Tips for Finding Forever: What Every Wizard Wants in a Witch.” Despite herself, she settled back in her chair to read them.

Most of them were ridiculous. She wasn’t sure how getting a sunburn would find anyone a husband, but there it was, tip number 58. Though several made her laugh, it wasn’t until she read number 111 that she rolled her eyes: go to Yale.

She scoffed. As if an education would attract the Malfoy heir. Maybe Nott, but Malfoy had always loathed that she had bested him in school. She wasn’t about to relive that again.

She pushed away from the table and put both books back on the shelf. As she walked away, she mulled over the tips. _Go to Yale_. How absurd. It wasn’t like flouncing about in a silly little schoolgirl skirt and boasting all that knowledge would make Malfoy fall into bed with her. And yet—

Hermione halted in the middle of the aisle. And yet, as absurd as it sounded, she did still have her Hogwarts uniform in the bottom of her trunk, untouched for the last two years. And she’d grown quite a lot in the last few years. Maybe—just maybe— _Witch Weekly_ knew what it had been talking about once upon a time.

With a wicked grin, Hermione set off through the stacks again.

If the Slytherins wanted a show, then a show they would get.

* * *

 

She’d taken two weeks to plan her attack. She carefully watched their routines from the comings and goings in the small staff lounge where they all took their lunch, and she meandered through the Library in different routes each night until she learned which sections they frequented most often—magical sports, particularly the Quidditch section, which was of no surprise to her.

They always stayed late each night, talking about the differences between Quidditch in different magical cultures. If she gave half a hen about the sport, she’d have been intrigued, but she couldn’t be arsed to care why the ancient Egyptians had used balls with a papyrus centre and covered in animal hide. She’d been more intrigued by catching as many of the subtle touches that she could observe between the men as she flitted between the stacks.

She bought new tights and Mary Janes via owlpost, as her old ones looked moth eaten and worn from spending years on end in a trunk. Her old Gryffindor skirt had been a little worse for wear, but she’d managed to patch it up to an acceptable level with a few well-placed charms that Molly had taught her years ago. The finishing touches had been a shrinking charm on one of her white work blouses and her Gryffindor tie around her neck.

Despite how hot she got while working, she had worn all the entire outfit below the royal blue robes that designated her as a librarian. She waited until Madam Aaushi had retired for the night, making a vague excuse to stay behind and continue researching. Once the woman’s footsteps faded away, Hermione stood.

She made her way across the Library, trying not to flinch at how loud her heart seemed to pound in her ears. She’d never necessarily thought of herself as seductive, but when a woman was cooped up around books about sex all the time and started observing two men—who were obviously very interested in each other _and_ women—stealing intimate caresses… well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

She rounded one of the last stacks of books between her and the former Slytherin men. She could hear their quiet voices bouncing off the shelves in front of her, so she disrobed as quietly as possible and straightened her shoulders.

With a quick primp of her hair and a silent reminder that she was a damned Gryffindor who knew how to get what she wanted, she pursed her lips into her best studious expression and rounded the corner of the stacks.

But no one was there.

The aisle was empty, save for a wand laid carefully on the desk, end pointed the direction from which she had just come. But that couldn’t be right—she still heard voices.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she approached the wand. She leaned over, elbows on the desk, to inspect it. A light blue light fell softly across the scratches in the old wood, and voices were streaming from it. Despite herself, she was impressed. How had Malfoy and Nott managed to—

Her train of thought screeched to a halt when a throat cleared behind her, and she was suddenly painfully aware of how exposed she was. She moved to straighten up, but a hand on her back stopped her.

“Well, what do we have here?” a low, gravely voice whispered in her ear. Theo. She felt a blush burn her cheeks.

“I can explain—” she stuttered, sweaty hands curling in on themselves. She was in _way_ over her head.

Out of the corner of her eye, a pale hand descended on the wand and the blue light vanished, taking the voices with it. “Ah, ah, ah, Granger.” Her eyes flicked up, widening when they connected with Malfoy’s trademark stormy grey. “Best not to tell lies.”

She swallowed, fighting the urge to cover herself. She wasn’t sure how or when, but the tables had been turned on her at some point and she fought to keep up. Her question must have been apparent because Malfoy took pity on her.

“You’re not very subtle, Granger.” He advanced on her, dragging his fingertips slowly along the top of the desk. She swore she would give _anything_ to have those very same fingers running all over her. Nott began slowly stroking the small of her back through the too-tight oxford. “You see, we’re rather observant when it comes to those of the—” Malfoy paused, “—fairer sex.”

Nott continued for him. “We wondered how long it would take you to make a move. Sitting in your section with that damned book night after night, finally catching your attention—it was all planned. Of course, we never anticipated _this_ charade.” He huffed a husky chuckle as his hand traced the exposed skin where her shirt rose above the waist of her skirt.

She gulped, trying and failing to resist the urge to lean into Theo’s touch, but it was Malfoy’s gaze that held her captive. “Theodore and I, we’ve come to a little understanding.” Malfoy licked his lips as he peered back at her. “We’ve wanted you for quite some time, but it was just never quite the right moment; see, war has a way of warping your priorities. Theo here was lucky enough to test the waters.”

Breath ghosted over her shoulder as Theo bent low to whisper in her ear. “So we thought we’d lure you into the snake’s den ourselves. How better to tempt a lioness than flaunt what she wants right in front of her face?”

She closed her eyes and leaned into the warm length of his body, unable to fight the temptation. She had no idea what she planned to do anymore, but she wouldn’t complain as long as Nott kept stroking her back like a prized possession.

Fingertips on her chin startled her eyes open, and she found herself face to face with Malfoy. He was even more appealing up close, flecks of green and blue laid in a myriad of constellations within his irises. Warmth flared in their depths, and she fought the desire to launch herself at him. A satisfied smirk flashed across his face before he pulled away, nodding subtly at Nott. Just as suddenly, the warmth of Nott’s body disappeared and she nearly groaned at the sudden loss.

A solitary hand fisting in the middle of her too-tight Oxford forced her upright before sliding across her breasts and causing her nipples to harden. His other snaked across her middle. She blinked at the shift in lighting that her upright position brought and fought not to squirm against Theo’s erection against her back. His low voice in her ear murmured, “Welcome to the game, sweetheart.”

Malfoy stepped into the line of her vision. He studied her for a moment, eyes lingering on the vast expanse of skin between her skirt and stockings. When he licked his lips and oh-so-subtly rearranged his position, Hermione knew that she had him; had _them_.

Malfoy dropped into a chair on the other side of the desk, studying the table top. When he looked back up, Hermione’s core clenched at the heat in his eyes. He propped his feet up on the table before he spoke. “Miss Granger, your marks have been decent this term, and you’re always early to class. However, I notice you’ve been rather— distracted as of late.”

Marks? Term? What was he—

Nott shifted behind her. “You really ought to answer him, darling. Professor Malfoy has been rather kind to allow us the privacy of the back row to indulge our whims.” _Professor?_ The arm around her waist dipped lower and brushed the hem of her skirt.

Heat pooled in her abdomen. She swallowed the lump in her throat down and answered Malfoy. “I’m sorry, Professor. It seems as though Nott and I have—”

“Ah.” Malfoy held up his hand, and her brow knit. “I seem to recall rather clearly that Mr Nott prefers it when you use his given name.”

“Yes, Professor Malfoy.” She didn’t miss the way his eyes darkened. “It seems as though Theodore and I might have gotten a little carried away. It’s just that your potions lectures can be so _stimulating_.” She arched into Theo, and though she felt ridiculous, the low groan in Theo’s throat and minute twitch of his hips sent a surge of satisfaction through her. She swallowed down a moan when his hand dipped below the waistband of her skirt, into her knickers and brushed the apex of her thighs.

Malfoy leaned forward in the chair, staring her down. “Though I appreciate your evaluation of my lectures, I’m afraid I have been slighted here, Ms Granger.”

Theo’s hand dipped further, parting her folds and rubbing lazy circles around her clit. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks as she maintained Malfoy’s intense stare.

She forced a doe-eyed expression. “I’m terribly sorry, Professor, but I’m not quite sure I understand.”

Malfoy seemed not to have heard her, so fixated was he on Theo’s hand beneath her knickers. With predatory ease, he unfolded himself from the chair.

Hermione held her breath as Malfoy stopped in front of her, trying to control the heaving of her breath as Theo continued to strum lazily across her most sensitive parts. Malfoy swallowed a few times before he spoke.

“You see, Ms Granger, I am forced to watch you parade about in these miniscule skirts, your nose stuck in a book, and your hand down Mr Nott’s pants while I try to lecture about basic magical chemistry. I’m forced to observe your work and hear your breathy little gasps while you pretend to have any interest in what I have to say. I’m forced to _smell_ your excitement when I check your work.”

True to his words, Hermione’s breath was coming out in little gasps, her heartbeat thundering in her ears as Theo moved his hand lower and skimmed over her entrance. The tightening of his hand on her breast forced another low moan from her throat.

Malfoy took another step forward, invading her space. “The problem, Ms Granger, is that you’ve always been just beyond my grasp and never close enough to taste.” There was honesty in his eyes with the statement, and Hermione’s heart was in her throat. When had this gotten beyond a game? “But now?” His hand shot out and wrapped around Theo’s, pulling it from her knickers. With his eyes burning into hers, he brought Theo’s fingers to his lips, inhaling deeply before snaking a tongue out to lave it clean. She and Theo moaned in tandem. Popping Theo’s fingers free, Malfoy continued. “Now, it’s my turn for a taste.”

Quicker than Hermione could react, Malfoy’s lips crashed into hers. She could taste herself on his tongue, and she was vaguely aware of Theodore holding her upright, hands skimming against her breasts, her stomach, anywhere he could reach, but she was lost in Malfoy.

When he finally pulled back, one hand still trapped in the mess of her hair and the other gripping her waist hard enough to bruise, the fire in his eyes seemed to have only ignited further. His hands grazed the side of her face, tracing her mouth. Despite herself, she opened her lips, tongue darting out to caress his finger.

Malfoy groaned low in his throat, and he jerked her forward out of Theo’s grip. When her body crashed into his, he dipped low and began to kiss his way up the side of her neck. Quietly, he said, “I think it’s Mr Notts’ turn to watch.” Slowly, he spun her until her back was pressed to his front.

Theo had settled into one of the chairs at an adjacent table. Slowly, maintaining eye contact with her, he undid the clasp on his trousers, sliding them off and palming himself through his pants.

Malfoy’s breath gusted over her ear, and the crack of his hand across her backside brought her attention back to the burning in her core and his proximity—so close to the place she desperately wanted him, yet so far away. He caressed the place he’d just smacked as he dropped on open-mouthed kiss on her neck just below her ear.  “If you’d like to maintain the marks that you’ve been given despite your subpar performance due to Mr Nott’s distractions, I expect proper convincing.”

Hermione forced herself to tear her gaze away from Theo, meeting Malfoy’s gaze over her shoulder. She swallowed, remembering the thrill of exceeding expectations; perhaps her virtue was also his vice. “Professor Malfoy, perhaps you ought to guide me. You’ve always been the best teacher.”

Heat coloured his cheeks. To her surprise, his hands wrapped around her waist and lifted her until her bum rested on the edge of the desk. His gaze bore into hers as he commanded her: “Undo the buckle.”

Her hands shook a bit, and she slowly slid the belt loose, pulling it through the loops and dropping it to the floor with a loud clang. Without further prompting, she slipped the button of his trousers from its lodgings and quickly undid the zipper.

When she looked up, she found Malfoy staring at her. “Such a good little Gryffindor,” he murmured, and she squirmed on the desktop. His hand suddenly clasped under her chin and forced her to look at Theodore. “Look at what you do to him.” Theo’s hand gripped his length, slowly stroking it up and down as he stared at them. “He wants you, isn’t that right Theo?” When Theo nodded, Malfoy guided her hand to his own length and hissed when her hand wrapped around him eagerly. “Follow his movements. Show me what he likes.”

Caught up in the moment, Hermione began to move her hand in time with Theo’s. Malfoy’s hips stuttered forward with the first full stroke of his length, and Hermione didn’t know where to look: at Theo, so captivatingly beautiful and stroking his length to her pleasing his best friend or at Draco, muttering praises between his own breathless pants.

When Malfoy dropped his hand to the tabletop next to her, she finally looked up. His eyes were clenched shut and mouth was open in a silent moan. Opening just a fraction, he peered down at her. “Touch yourself.”

Her other hand slipped into her folds, and she unwittingly tightened her grip on Malfoy. His breath stuttered out, and he swore low under his breath. Peering up at him from beneath her lashes, she asked, “Like this, Professor?” Her fingers dipped between the folds, sprinkling featherlight touches over herself.

“Harder.” His gaze was punishing, and she bit her lip when she increased the pressure, the warmth in her core growing. “Gods, you’re so bloody beautiful. Such a good girl.”

Emboldened by his praise, Hermione slipped lower and nudged one finger into her entrance. She looked up at Malfoy from beneath lowered lids and breathed, “Please, Professor.”

Malfoy’s eyes darkened and he gripped her arms, guiding her down off the table, turning her around, and folding her over the desk before him, positioning her so that she could stare directly at Theo, and she fought the desire to clench her thighs together. She desperately needed friction of any kind to soothe the ache between her thighs. Malfoy placed a hand on either one and stepped into her space. When she felt his cock brush against her centre, she stilled and sucked in a deep breath.

“I think you’ve earned the opportunity for some extra credit, wouldn’t you say, Ms Granger?” He pushed the head of his cock into her and she groaned in anticipation. Words were lost to her and she tried to push back on to him. She moaned in disappointment when he pulled away, his head resting at her entrance again. “I asked a question, Ms Granger, and I expect an answer. _Do you think you’ve earned extra credit?”_

She swallowed, nodding frantically. “Please, Professor Malfoy.”

She tried to tamp down the burning embarrassment she felt at begging him, but then he slid into her with one quick movement and any chance of coherent thought slipped from her. 

He pulled out slowly, teasing her with his length, before setting a punishing rhythm, pounding into her with grunts of satisfaction. Distantly she was glad for the silencing charms they had cast, as she was sure her own moans were echoing over the books. When his hand tangled in her hair and wrenched her head upright, he began to trail kisses and nips along her neck, her eyes drifting up at the pleasure.

The sharp crack of his hand across her arse had her eyes flying open. “Keep your eyes open. Look at what you do to Theo.” All pretences were gone now, and Hermione gripped the edge of the desk to keep from moaning at the unexpected wave of desire that washed over her at the easy transition from role playing to reality.

Malfoy’s grip on her tightened and she moaned, taking every thrust and hoping for more. When his surname escaped her on another moan, Malfoy pulled her flush against him. He bit down sharply on her ear, pinching her nipple tightly between his fingers and whispering over her surprised gasp, “Say my name.”

The low register of his voice against her ear sent her trembling, goose pimples breaking out on her flesh as her body tightened near completion. A strangled groan ripped its way from Malfoy’s throat as he pumped into her again, his thumb rubbing her clit.

Hermione locked eyes with Theo as she pushed back into each of Malfoy’s thrusts. Theo fisted his cock tighter. “Come for him, Hermione.” The other man’s heated gaze bore into her, and she tumbled over the edge into oblivion with a shout of Draco’s name.

Malfoy worked her through it, the pump of his hips becoming increasingly erratic before he snapped forward one last time, her name on his lips when he came.

When she finally came back down to earth, she realized that both of the men were stroking her arms, murmuring to one another over her. Theo locked eyes with her. “You are incredible. Best Valentine’s Day ever.”

She groaned weakly. “I didn’t even realize the day. I’m sorry you didn’t—”

He stepped into her space, surprising her with his sudden shift from understanding to imposing. “Do not apologize. That was, objectively, one of the sexiest experiences of my life. I should be thanking you.”

She used Theo’s arms to steady herself as Malfoy pulled out of her sensitive flesh.

Once they were clothed once more, Malfoy cocked an eyebrow at her. “Not that I’m complaining, Granger, but what’s with the outfit?”

She groaned, covering her eyes as both men laughed at her. “It’s a long story.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are love. Let me know what you think!


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